"horologe" poems
Somewhat back from the village street
Stands the old-fashioned country-seat.
Across its antique portico
Tall poplar-trees their shadows throw;
And from its station in the hall
An ancient timepiece says to all,—
“Forever—never!
Never—forever!”
Half-way up the stairs it stands,
And points and beckons with its hands
From its case of massive oak,
Like a monk, who, under his cloak,
Crosses himself, and sighs, alas!
With sorrowful voice to all who pass,—
“Forever—never!
Never—forever!”
By day its voice is low and light;
But in the silent dead of night,
Distinct as a passing footstep’s fall,
It echoes along the vacant hall,
Along the ceiling, along the floor,
And seems to say, at each chamber-door,—
“Forever—never!
Never—forever!”
Through days of sorrow and of mirth,
Through days of death and days of birth,
Through every swift vicissitude
Of changeful time, unchanged it has stood,
And as if, like God, it all things saw,
It calmly repeats those words of awe,—
“Forever—never!
Never—forever!”
In that mansion used to be
Free-hearted Hospitality;
His great fires up the chimney roared;
The stranger feasted at his board;
But, like the skeleton at the feast,
That warning timepiece never ceased,—
“Forever—never!
Never—forever!”
There groups of merry children played,
There youths and maidens dreaming strayed;
O precious hours! O golden prime,
And affluence of love and time!
Even as a miser counts his gold,
Those hours the ancient timepiece told,—
“Forever—never!
Never—forever!”
From that chamber, clothed in white,
The bride came forth on her wedding night;
There, in that silent room below,
The dead lay in his shroud of snow;
And in the hush that followed the prayer,
Was heard the old clock on the stair,—
“Forever—never!
Never—forever!”
All are scattered now and fled,
Some are married, some are dead;
And when I ask, with throbs of pain,
“Ah! when shall they all meet again?”
As in the days long since gone by,
The ancient timepiece makes reply,—
“Forever—never!
Never—forever!”
Never here, forever there,
Where all parting, pain, and care,
And death, and time shall disappear,—
Forever there, but never here!
The horologe of Eternity
Sayeth this incessantly,—
“Forever—never!
Never—forever!”
3.7k
their feet clicked along the marble floor,
blue, gold, and embroidered flowers
covered every tapestry of the castle.
click, click, click
chants rose in the air,
statues of past kings judged the dancers,
diamonds fell from ring fingers of maids,
my presence embellished by the eyes of the admirers.
click, click, click
the horologe matched the tapping sound of the guests’ footsteps,
my time was running out.
click, click, click
an angel whispered,
“time was never real.”
click,
click,
click,
(only this time, it was only my feet.)
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 8:20 AM UTC
Thick and curdled
dreams slip past me inebriated
tell me lies that bind my back
and fill my skies with sonorous bruised
clouds
like cracked eggshells
splintered across an age set before me
the horologe weighs me down
only numbers seem to count
Most seem unable to calculate
one life set apart from the ticking
oh let me be styled by my own reckoning
set aside from the domain of economizing
free from lingering gazes in a fishbowl
I want my own homeostasis
my own diluted
grounds
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 3:00 AM UTC
“Amorous is this anguish novel of the woes of fervor,
It is not greatness I see within myself but that of others,
Touching skin hedonistic for our lingering infatuation,
All these interlude cataclysm of such a bereavement,
Beyond this place of wrath destruction and tears of woe,
Looms the horror fronds of pain as gesture abhorrence,
Pleasures awaited amour claimed lost rapacious desires,
These days have ebbed as Love's swell was checked,
Could earth be sequestered in some obscure place?
Let your shadow lengthen the horologe in the meadows,
I am besieged by the enlightening celestial naiad beauty,
This was possibly the most euphoric point of my life,
She the begin of a light that was once my beguiled penumbra,
Her skin seems to have the deluded eyes always my eternal allure,
Mesmerism is what you are when in front of me my allure,
I can feel your soft hands and the tender lips upon mine,
Lonely nights without you as my dreams have surrounded you,
Dreams surround I can see and touch your face long embrace,
The contour ambiance of her body withering serpent is penumbra”
By Andrew Guzaldo 03/15/2019 ©
Mar 17, 2019
Mar 17, 2019 at 3:29 PM UTC